


In the Dark Corners

by Riastarstruck



Series: Rias 2016 Bingo Challenge works [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Daryl Has Issues, Daryl showers, Exhibitionism, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Possessive Rick, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group Bingo 2016, Smut, Voyeurism, fantasies, small angst, some feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6830020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riastarstruck/pseuds/Riastarstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has always had this desire, a desire to be watched, admired, wanted. <br/>After the world ends he doesn't think about it much. But behind the walls of Alexandria it's easy to forget the dangers for a moment and let secret wants creep back in.<br/>When Daryl returns from beyond the wall injured Rick patches him up and maybe what Daryl wants isn't so out of reach after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark Corners

**Author's Note:**

> So this was meant to be a short fic to tick off a couple of my bingo squares. It ticks off bingo squares but it didn't turn out so short. *shrug* what can ya do?
> 
> This fic is for two bingo squares: Exhibitionism and Fantasies   
> It is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy it! and also, thanks to everyone at RWG who egged me on a cheerleaded for this, you guys are great!

 

Daryl was spitting mad by the time he made it back behind the tall walls of Alexandria. The grazes and small cuts down his side smarted and he felt the deeper, throbbing pain of a cut on his back, stretching and weeping with every shift of his shoulders.

He knew how he looked when he made it to the gates, didn’t need to see the shocked and worried look on Sasha’s face. That look was always there now, lurking behind the eyes of everyone whenever someone went beyond the walls.

Secretly, Daryl thought that was the most dangerous thing about the walls, the way they made you feel safe, made the outside world seem more dangerous. When you live in that hell you learn to adapt, you never let your guard down, never forget for one moment that this breath could be your last. It was all too easy to let that awareness slip inside the tall walls that surrounded Alexandria.

Waving off Sasha’s questions he nodded his thanks to Rosita and moved deeper into the safe-zone. He kept his head down, sore shoulder raised to stop from jarring it and glared at anyone he caught looking. His clothes were black with walker gore, smeared up his arms and across his torso. He nodded when he saw Rick on the porch, little Jude on his hip and watching Daryl’s dirty form.

“You okay?” Ricks' voice was low and calm, his eyes steady.

“’m fine.” Daryl skirted past him into the house, careful not to touch any of the walls or furniture.

He hated the clean, pale walls but he didn’t want to start dragging the real world into it and ruining everyone else’s fantasy.

Rick’s distinctive loping stride follow him in and through the house. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the other man watching him, jaw set under the thick stubble that had made itself home on the other mans face once more.

Daryl idly wondered when he was going to shave it off again, become the clean-cut, normal looking cop he used to be. Daryl didn’t let his mind linger on it. Darting his eyes away he paused and waited for the other man to speak.

“You’re injured.” Ricks tone was like a warning, and Daryl bit down the irritation at the sound of it. He jerked his shoulder to show it was fine. Rick didn’t look convinced. “You need to get it looked at.” Rick insisted and Daryl huffed.

“It’s fine.” Daryl waved a hand dismissively and let his crossbow drop from over his shoulder. Rick cocked a hip, hand resting comfortably on the buckle of his gun-belt, a familiar gesture -it meant he was settling in for a disagreement and he wasn’t going to leave till he’d gotten his way.

Rick was silent for a moment, studying the splatter of walker gore ruining Daryl’s t-shirt and smeared across his skin before he spoke.

“Will you let me look at them at least?” Daryl bit back the instinctual denials, the scoff he felt rising in his throat. Casting a glance at Ricks stance he bit back an exhausted sigh and let his tired shoulders slump.

“Yeah.” Surprise flashed in Ricks eyes before he gave a nod and turned on his booted heel.

“Have a shower.” He tossed over his shoulder as he retreated out of the house. Daryl watched him go before turning and wearily made his way to the bathroom.

Daryl hadn’t spent much time in the bathroom of their new house, hadn’t spent much time in the house really. If he was outside there was no point trekking all the way back to the house to take a shit and some part of his revolted at the idea of wasting all that water just for him to get dirty again.

He knew the others liked the luxury, liked the privacy and the small comfort leftover from the previous life, but it had never been something Daryl coveted; and now, at the end of the world, it seemed a little stupid and dangerous.

Unstrapping his weapons was a habitual process. He worked through the motions, letting his crossbow rest against the ground and lined his knives and gun up carefully on the available bench space, checking each one absently as he went, though he knew everything was in good condition.

Looking around at the bathroom he felt alien and out of place. Everything was so fucking pale in this house. The counter had a few things on it that the others had put there, toothbrushes, a comb, a bar of soap. They were innocuous tokens of a home -small, unthinking things which pile up and speak of safety, of familiarity, of doing more than existing in a place.

He'd never taken the time to look around, he did what needed doing and left. Even his showers were perfunctory and brief. He found the loud rush of water blocking out all other noise disconcerting.

Running his fingers over the marble countertop he let his eyes wander. The shower was big, a glassed off space in the corner of the room not offering any privacy or anywhere to hide.

There was the noise of one of the kids laughing further up the street through the window, breaking the heavy silence of the bathroom and Daryl rubbed his hands over his face. He was bone tired, a tough two-day slog through the woods and a rough scrap with a waterlogged walker had worn him out. The long nights of sleeplessness before he’d left had done him no favours either.

Shaking his head to himself he started stripping. Keeping his eyes glued on the back of the door and the robe he thinks Michonne might have put there. He was all too aware of the large mirror taking up most of the bathroom wall and his whole being shied away from it.

The bright, reflective surface and his own movements drew his hunters eye and he couldn’t stop himself from darting a look at it. His hands slowed but didn’t still as he watched himself in the mirror, eyes taking in the way sections of his body were revealed slowly, each button through the corresponding hole revealing a little more.

Ducking his head, he watched himself from under his fringe, his mind hovering in the space between the here and now and the stray thoughts that crept in at the corners.

Swallowing thickly, he shook his head at himself and turned his back on the mirror, stripping with quick, efficient movements. Dropping his soiled clothes in a pile on the ground he squared his shoulders and opened the shower door, mind carefully blank.

 

Merle had taken him to a strip club for his sixteenth birthday.

It had been a dirty, cheap place where the women were as tired and worn as the furnishings. The lights had been bright and hot, murky in the darkness and had painted the girls in harsh colours, making them look alien and strange as they moved through the shadows and across the creaky floorboards.

They’d writhed on the stage, grinding and thrusting and holding themselves to be looked at. Daryl had been uncomfortable, looking at the slabs of flesh on display, the glitter over stretched skin and worn costumes.

Merle had slapped him hard on the back, brought him a beer and hooted and hollered at the women, throwing dollar bills on the floor and leaning close to Daryl.

“ _Make ‘em crawl for it, little brother_.” Daryl had nodded, feeling tight in the throat and wanting to look away, to let his eyes rest in the deep shadows of the room, but Merle had been insistent that he was going to have a good time.

Merle had promised him this trip for a year. It had gotten in his head somehow and he latched onto it, talking it up whenever he remembered. It had been something they shared, a future moment just for them. A promise between two brothers which remained between them, even when Merle wasn’t around.

So Daryl had watched, hands fisted in the legs of his jeans and made sure his eyes didn’t waver from the writhing figures on the stage. Everything in that place was an assault on the senses, designed to distract, from the glitter on the girls’ breasts to the mirrors over the bar.

Merle had pulled one of the roving girls close, slipped her some crumpled notes and leant in to talk to her over the music, hazy eyes darting to Daryl. He’d watched with a lead feeling of terror in his gut as Merle brought the girl over, teeth flashing in the light as he grinned broadly.

She had smelt like sweat, hairspray and liquor, a sharp, acrid scent which clung to the back of his throat. She’d moved with confidence as she gave him a lap dance, movements familiar and routine to her, smile flirty but she’d been tired behind her eyes.

Daryl’d sat back, body rigid and unmoving as she moved above him. He could feel the sweat behind his knees, the way his clothes clung to him in the humid room and the way her breath ghosted over him, too close, too familiar, too much.

His eyes had slid past her moving figure, shifted to the shadows surrounding them and had caught the eye of another man; older than him, dark haired, dark eyes, sitting low in his chair and watching them. His eyes had roving over her writhing, semi-clothed form without pretence, no shame, embarrassment or coyness at being caught looking, and he remained just as bold as his gaze slipped beyond her to Daryl.

There had been something dark in that look, in the way his eyes moved over the two of them, mouth gone loose and wet as he took them in. It had been an almost physical thing, a heavy roving gaze which raked over him, taking in every detail, tearing Daryl open, exposing him in a proprietary way.

Daryl had felt something in his gut twist, felt heat prickle along his skin and his breath grew thin and insubstantial.

Above him, the girl had felt him get hard. Her smile became a little smug as her body moved a little bit closer as she looked down at him, gaze knowing.

In that moment, Daryl had felt pinned, stuck between the two eyes piercing him.

The man had seen the way his body strained, he’d taken in the way he shuddered when she pressed tight, had admired the way Daryl looked as he got hard in public. She’d watched his face, taking in the flush he felt rising on his cheeks and the way his hair along his brow became damp with sweat and his lips had fallen open, wet and hot feeling after he’d bitten down on them.

He'd never had someone see him like that before. Nobody had ever looked at him with hungry eyes and to have two strangers staring at him, taking it in like it was their right -like he was on display- as exposed and open as the girls on the stage, had altered something inside him.

The thought had sent a shudder through him. In that moment he’d been consumed by the thought of anonymous eyes roving over him, proprietary and bold, taking in every secret part of him, leaving him bare and exposed. His breath had grown tight and his dick had strained in his jeans his world had narrowed and expanded in that moment, rocking him to his core, tearing him apart and remaking him in a new way, a way which was made to be looked at, to be observed.

It’d almost been a blessing to have her time up, for her to lift herself away from him and let him catch his breath. It would have been a relief if he hadn’t caught the eye of the man across the room, hadn’t seen the way his eyes moved hungrily down Daryl’s body, taking in the long line of his splayed form and the mound in his lap where his dick strained, framed by his legs which had fallen open.

When he got home that night he’d closed himself in his small room and threw himself onto his bed, ripping his jeans open and pushing them down to his thighs to expose his dick. He’d spread his legs as far as he could and stroked his dick with fast, frantic tugs as he’d lifted his loose t-shirt up, exposing his stomach and chest to the hot night.

He’d imagined a figure in the corner of the room, a big man with dark eyes watching him, hand ghosting over his own groin as he watched every twitch of Daryl’s hips and stomach muscles. Daryl had closed his eyes and thrown his head back, imagining eyes moving across the planes of his body, tracing the long line from arched throat to his hand fisting his dick. He’d imagined a voice murmuring lowly in the dark, telling him to show him how he liked it, telling him he was beautiful, that he made him hard.

He’d shuddered and gasped into the hot air of his room. The stranger in the corner watched him, eyes tracing over every inch of his body and Daryl had felt like he was worth looking at, like his pointy face was something attractive, his body was something someone might find attractive, that his scars and bony limbs didn’t detract or stop someone being turned on by him.

He’d came with a shudder, come splattering across his stomach, hot points of contact which cooled quickly. He’d stroked himself through the shuddering aftershocks and lifted his head to stare down at the mess he’d made on his stomach.

As he’d lain, shuddering in the aftermath, he’d ran the fingers of his free hand over his body, rubbing the viscous fluid into his skin and studying the feeling of it under his rough fingertips, painting patterns idly across skin as the fluid dried and crusted as he worked.

Throwing his head back against the mattress he had squeezed his eyes shut and let his grip on his dick loosen and fall away as he enjoyed the flushed, tingling feeling of release as it ran through his body.

He’d felt hot embarrassment coil in his guts and bloom hot on his face when he’d allowed himself to think about what he’d done, his attention drifting to the corner of the room which stood empty.

Daryl never went back to the strip club, though Merle was a frequent patron when he was home or on leave from the Marines. He always invited Daryl; though, after the first few times, he never expected him to say yes. 

Daryl had been wary of the place, of the way people looked at the girls there, eyes hungry. He hadn’t liked how it made him feel, the way his stomach twisted at the thought of being looked at like that, of another anonymous guy looking at him like he was made to be looked at, like he was another slab of meat to be observed.

 

Daryl tried to close the thoughts off from his mind as he stepped into the glass enclosure and fiddled with the taps. The problem with Alexandria was that it was like Before and that familiarity, that perceived safety, made the past seem closer.

The water came out hot and he stepped back from it, his toes flexing on the white tiles as he turned the taps towards cold. He stepped under it when it was warm, closing his eyes against the rush of water which cascaded over him.

He thought briefly of jerking off but the thought slipped away with the grime on his body. The warm water ran over his form, soaking into his skin and he forced his shoulders to relax, fighting the way his shoulders stiffened when the raw skin of his scrapes and the deeper cut on his shoulder stung against the assault.

He’d spent years fighting himself when he jerked off, for most of his teenage years and deep into his twenties he’d resisted the way his mind would wander when he jerked off. Under the covers at night, it had been too easy to imagine someone else there. He’d bite his lip to muffle the sounds which wanted to slip out, desperate, pathetic sounds like a bitch in heat. Sweat would bloom on his body and he’d shy away from looking towards the corners.

Even though it was empty, had always been empty, his body would grow tight and hot at the thought that it might not be, that someone could be there, looking at him, could hear the noises that wanted to slip out. Every time he’d climax his mind would stray to the thought of someone being there, someone who couldn’t tear their eyes away from him, who looked at him like he was the only thing worth looking at. He’d hated himself for the longest time for that.

The figure he imagined had twisted in his head. Sometimes it’d been a pretty girl with big tits and a hand between her legs, shoved up under a skirt, other times it was a cool-eyed man, hand pressing against the big bulge in his jeans as he licked his lips, eyes raking over every inch of Daryl’s quivering body.

For years, he’d tried to pretend it wasn’t something he needed. It seemed dirty somehow like there was something wrong with him that he needed someone watching him get off, that arousal knotted hotter in his guts at the thought of being entirely bare.

He’d jerked it under the covers, not giving into the temptation to spread himself open, to throw the covers back and reveal himself to the room and the window that looked out onto the woods. He’d ignored the quiet whisper in the back of his head that said someone could be out there, watching him.

It got easier to ignore as he got older. The figure in the corner of the room was just there, he didn’t think about it and eventually learned not to fight it. His mind would ghost over it, acknowledging it and he let the hot twist in his guts curl tighter. But he didn’t dwell, didn’t let himself think too hard on it.

When he got older he jerked off less, too tired from working, too sore from fighting. His adolescent interest drifting away as his hormones settled.

Didn’t mean it went away. Didn’t mean he understood it any. Didn’t stop the fantasies which slipped in when he wasn’t prepared, creeping into his dreams and leaving him hard when he woke up, whispers in the back of his head as he lost himself in orgasm, a flip book of thoughts, feelings, sensations, the feeling of being watched.

Encased in the glass cubicle he could see his blurry reflection in the bathroom mirror, hard edges blurred through the shower door and distance. His eyes shied away from it, darting down to his feet where he could watch the swirls of dirt leaving his body and circle the drain.

Even after he’d twisted the cold tap the water was hot, hotter than he’d felt in what seemed like forever. The bathroom at his house Before had been small and cramped, the shower had been rust stained and had a broken door with a scored plastic panel that never closed right.

This was luxurious, like everything in Alexandria. Foreign and strange. Designed to make you forget that the world had gone to shit. It made his skin crawl, the whole town was a replica of the world he’d hated growing up.

He closed his eyes and leant his head back, letting the spray beat down on his face and shoulders, water washing over his body, washing the exhaustion and blood from his skin.

As he scrubbed at himself, just his hand and the water working to dislodge the dirt and sweat, his eyes darted towards the mirror. He took in the vague shape of his form, watching as his hands worked. His stomach knotted up and he felt electricity under his skin. Through the hazy image he couldn’t see his scars, couldn’t see where his body was wrong or too tough. He looked smooth and unblemished, something worth looking at.

Biting his lip, he turned his eyes away and willed his breathing to steady and his body to calm down.

The thing was, Daryl knew he was never going to be beautiful, never really attractive. He wasn’t like the boys in the magazines or the popular boys in town when he’d been growing up. When he was young he’d been too angular, sharp-boned and had always held himself at strange angles. Now he was older he was world-rough, like a piece of grizzled meat, scarred and damaged.

When the thought of being watched had first come to him he’d been young, his body had held scars already but there was the thought in the back of his mind that they might fade, they might not have ruined him forever.

Since then, he’d learnt to make himself something no one looked at too long, Before, he’d been tough enough to skate by but not something the alpha-types needed to worry about; now he was backup, he was necessary and useful but mostly unremarkable. It was all carefully constructed, it left him room to breathe, stopped people getting in his face just because they felt like they could.

Despite the years of work to set it aside, to forget it and carve out a place for himself in whatever world he ended up in, the thought of being watched, being seen, lingered. In quiet, guilty moments he imagined if he was attractive, if he’d never had his face broken up, if his skin wasn’t riddled with scars. He’d imagine some faceless stranger being pleased by what he saw, his breath maybe catching at the sight of Daryl, gaze turning hungry.

Shaking wet hair out of his eyes he blinked through the water and lifted his hand to poke gingerly at the scrapes on his side. The skin was hot and tender but nothing bad, no infection or serious damage. The raw edge of the cut on his shoulder felt a little worse and he shied away from his own touch before he steeled himself and rubbed at it carefully, letting the water run over it, cleaning it out as his mind drifted.

After the world ended it was easy to ignore that part of himself. A presence watching him without his knowledge was a danger, more now than ever. There wasn’t time to waste on simple pleasures, it was all about survival, about moving and staying alive and protecting those close to him.

This world was harsh and mean and dangerous, you couldn’t afford to let go for a moment, to forget about the situation for a minute, because that could be your last.

He thrived in it, away from the pressures of a normal life, this make-believe normal he would never achieve and had never even tried to.

He didn’t think about the man in the corner of the room for a long time after the world ended, didn’t think about the hot thrill of being observed, being instructed. It slipped from his mind like so many things from Before, it was no longer important so he no longer cared.

He didn’t notice at first that he was being watched in another way. It wasn’t the wary, shaded glances of strangers from before, it wasn’t critical or judgemental. It wasn’t anything like Before at all.

Rick watched him all the time. His keen eyes were trained on him, observing, studying, taking his cue from Daryl’s expression or behaviour; seeking Daryl out like he was some kind of visual reassurance.

Rick looked to Daryl as a touchstone for right and it took Daryl longer than he’d like to admit to realise it. Once he did, it burned in his gut, twisted them up and made his skin hot and too-tight.

There was none of the hunger, none of the ownership or demand which he had always imagined in the faceless, nameless man in the corner of the room. But there was something else to Rick’s looks, something that if Daryl let himself, he could believe it could slip over, could dip into something hot and dark.

 

Alexandria was dangerous. It was so much like Before with its quiet houses and safe streets. The walls surrounded them, enclosing them in false safety. It made Daryl want to crawl out of his skin, living in neat, tidy homes waiting to die.

With the quiet and the seemed safety came the thoughts -the ones he’d had no time for on the road. At the prison he’d still been aware of the world outside, he’d known the previous world was gone, the perceived safety of the prison was just imagined and he’d known that. He hadn’t been lulled into a false security by the bars and tall fences, he’d known exactly where he was and what was happening for every moment they spent there.

He’d liked it there, liked the false security of the walls and the way nature pressed close in all directions. It hadn’t been safe, nothing was now, but it hadn’t pretended to be anything other than what it was -their shelter.

But Alexandria promised comforts, promised the world from Before and it crept under the skin, slipping in under his guard. Hot food and well-lit rooms made him slowly remember the things he had pushed aside -comfort, being sated.

With that came other hungers. Days ago, Daryl had lain on the couch in the living room and he’d found his eyes slipping to the corner of the room like they had when he was just a kid.

When his fingers had slipped to his stomach, calloused digits tracing over the skin, lifting the fabrics of his shirts as his mind hovered in the space just before accepting the presence of the shadowy figure in the corner, he’d jerked his touch away as if burned.

He'd pulled himself up and shouldering his way out of the house and onto the porch, glaring into the darkness, eyes tracing the line of the wall in the dark and let his body cool.

The worst thing wasn’t the way his eyes slipped to the corner, wanting an audience he’d known since he was a kid; the worst thing was that the audience had changed. That even before his eyes had settled on the corner he’d known in his gut, known deep in the core of his mind where he chose not to tread, that the stranger in the corner wasn’t some faceless, nameless man he’d invented. It had been Rick.

What had spurred the brief flare of arousal had been the whispered thought, barely there, not fully cognitive, that Rick could walk in at any moment, that Rick could enter and see him how he’d always longed to be seen.

 

The bathroom door clicked open and Daryl’s body stilled, his eyes snapped to the door and he searched his memory for the closest weapon. His hand was already reaching for the small shelf which held the soap and a few other bottles he hadn’t bothered looking at when he recognised the shape of Rick through the watermarked glass of the shower.

Rick opened the door just wide enough to slip in, closing it behind himself with a firm click as he kept his back to it. Daryl didn’t relax until he saw the loose slump to Rick’s shoulders, the easy way he held himself and the casual hold he had on the first aid kit.

Rick looked up at him and Daryl was suddenly aware of his body in a way he’d always hated. This wasn’t the first time he’d been naked in front of the other man but it was somehow different in this bright white room. In the prison it had been institutional, dull grey and a row of showerheads. On the road, it had been a quick wipe down if they found water and had a moment to catch their breath.

This room was different. It was clean and white with a large mirror covering most of one wall, he was enclosed it a small cubical made of glass and it felt like he was on display, like he wasn’t just nude but his nudity was contained for the express purpose of display.

He knew he could open the cubicle door if he wanted, step out and shy away. Tell him to leave and he would but the twisting in his guts was back and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Pushing the thought aside he planted his feet and feigned confidence, meeting the other mans gaze.

“How bad is it?” Rick opened, speaking over the rush of the shower. Daryl crossed his arms over his chest reflexively and glared.

“It’s not.” He couldn’t see clearly through the steamed glass but he thought Rick might have smiled. Daryl huffed, ducking his head so the water rushed against the back of his neck as he uncrossed his arms and reached for the bar of soap on the small shelf, scoring it absently with his thumbnail.

“Can I see?” Rick asked. Daryl’s eyes darted back towards the mirror, taking in the shape of himself, tall and broad in the small enclosure, entirely on display. He bit back a shudder and looked back at the other man.

“It can’t wait five fucking minutes?” He growled. Rick shrugged and rested his weight back against the door.

“I’ll wait.”

He didn’t move and Daryl clamped his hand down tightly on the bar of soap in his hand and felt his breathing grow heavy. He lowered his eyes, focusing on the corner of the shower stall and readied himself before rubbing the soap in his hands to form a lather.

Dumping the bar back on the small ledge he ran the soap lather though his hair, combing his fingers through the long strands and rubbing ruthlessly at his scalp.

There was the sound of shifting denim under the rush of water and Daryl’s eyes darted towards the other man. He felt his stomach swoop when he met Rick’s eyes through the glass. Daryl looked away, his hands twitching in his hair and he bit the inside of his cheek.

He remembered the girls he’d seen when he was sixteen, the way they’d held themselves, posed and letting the ugly eyes of the men look their fill. The way they’d moved their bodies, confident that all eyes were on them and all dicks were pointed in their direction.

There was nothing explicit in Rick’s face, nothing blatant, no whooping and cheering, no ugly leer or licked lips but there was something in the other man’s eyes, something he’d seen before in glimpses, dark and possessive and hungry.

Even if he was just imagining it, was making things up and using the blurred glass as an excuse, the thought cut right through him. He was entirely on display here, hands buried in his own hair, chest open and exposed, dick hanging by his thigh and fingers pushing his hair away from his face.

He shuddered, a shiver rocking through his body and his guts twisting. He lowered his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair a couple more times to rinse the soap out before he reached for the bar again.

The soap smelt like it was meant to smell like flowers and he wrinkled his nose at it before rubbing it again, forming a thick lather which he worked across his skin, rubbing it into the planes of his body, working the layers of dirt off. He worked meticulously but efficiently. He didn't linger or let his hands frame or display like they wanted to and he kept his head still, not letting his eyes drift to either the mirror or the man in the corner. His lungs squeezed at the knowledge that the figure was real, that it wasn’t just a form constructed in his imagination, but flesh and blood.

His hands faltered, hovering in the air over his groin briefly shielding it from view as he thought about what to do. His eyes darted up to the dark presence of the other man, his tongue slipping out to catch the spray of water on his lips as he waited for some kind of sign of how to continue.

Rick nodded him on, eyes steady on Daryl’s face. Clenching his teeth against the explosion of air which wanted to escape. Daryl let his hands settle on the hot, tender flesh of his groin and begun a perfunctory scrub. An ugly red blush rose in his cheeks and he warred with the way the flesh in his hands had swollen a little at the touch despite the nerves which twisted in his stomach.

Letting go of himself the moment his job was finished he stepped fulling into the spray of water, closing his eyes against the room and letting the rush of the water drown out any thought that wanted to intrude.

He hesitated before turning his back on the room, a moment of doubt, of fear paralysing him. He knew Rick had seen his scars but it unsettled him to display them anyway. There was an inherent vulnerability in turning your back on someone, exposing your unprotected form to another and it went against every instinct in him to show his bare back and ass and let himself become so vulnerable.

Except he trusted Rick, trusted him to watch his back, to protect and care for him, he trusted Rick with every part of himself and in the end, the decision was easy. He turned fully, twisting the taps off abruptly and stood still in the sudden silence.

He heard the shift of denim and fabric as Rick moved and could hear the measured, calm breathes of the other man between the drips of water falling from his own body and landing with small drum beats on the tiled floor. His own breaths seemed loud in the small space, deeper and heavier than they should be.

Turning back around he met Ricks gaze which pinned him in place. Daryl remained where he stood, water on his body chilling but he remained hot, almost uncomfortably so, in the stuffy room.

Rick jerked his head, telling him without words to get out of the shower and Daryl did so without thinking.

When he closed the cubical door behind him Rick was closer than he had been, a towel extended towards him which Daryl took gratefully, wrapping it around his shoulders and patting his face and hair dry briskly before rubbing it over his arms and torso roughly.

Rick tisked when Daryl rubbed roughly at the scrapes along his side and avoided the deeper cut on his shoulder but he didn't interrupt until Daryl had knotted the towel closed around his waist.

The room was silent as they stood, looking at each other in the remaining steam.

 

Rick turned Daryl to face away from him with a barely-there touch to his arm. Daryl swallowed thickly when he found himself face to face with his own reflection and Ricks slight form behind him.

Rick didn’t hesitate to move Daryl how he needed him, angling his body towards the light as he opened the first aid kit on the counter.

Ricks reflection frowned in concentration as he ducked his head to look closely at the cut on Daryl's shoulder-blade. His touch was light and efficient as he patted it dry with gauze and inspected the torn edges seriously before neatly rubbing antibiotic cream into his skin.

Daryl fought to keep his breathing slow and steady, limiting any movement of his torso as Rick worked. His eyes were fixed on the reflection of the other man, taking in every shift in expression.

When Rick finished with Daryls shoulder his fingers walked across Daryls skin towards the scrapes and cuts that littered his side.

Daryl moved where he was wordlessly told to. When he wasn’t facing his own reflection it was easier to settle his heartbeat and relax into the light touches. He still didn’t look at Rick, whose head was bowed as he worked carefully over Daryls skin.

There was the faint sound of one of the kids laughing down the street and the way it echoes around the street and filled the space between them seemed to make the silence in the room more pronounced.

Daryl was turned again so he was facing Ricks bowed head as he studied some of the lighter scratches which drifted onto his chest.

Eventually, Ricks fingers stilled and they dropped to touch the sharp jut of Daryls hipbones which were revealed over the top of his towel.

Daryl held his breath, chest tight and skin thrumming as he warred with the hot throb which rocked through the core of his body at the other mans presence.

When Rick spoke his voice was a low growl. “Am I making you uncomfortable or…” Ricks throat bobbed as he swallowed and Daryl watched the motion, his breath caught in his throat like sick. Every instinct in his body was telling him to run, to shy away and break the moment.

He stayed still, where Rick had put him and felt his skin tingle and his chest seize with anticipation, “or do you like it?” Rick finished.

Daryl had never told anybody that he got off on the thought of being watched. He barely even acknowledged it in his own mind. It was instinctual knowledge, a gut understanding which he shied away from when his hand wasn't on his dick.

He felt frozen under Ricks steady gaze and his blunt question, it left no room to wiggle out from, no simple side-step that would get them both out of this entire thing.

And some part of Daryl didn’t want to side-step and evade; he wanted Rick, wanted his leadership, his company, his family, heart and body. He wanted Rick to watch him, to desire him and see him as something worth looking at.

He already had the mans gaze finding him as a reassurance, he already belonged to the other man, but he wanted fire in that gaze, wanted hunger. Unless Daryl was reading this whole thing, very wrong, he thinks Rick might be offering him all of that; that Rick might be capable of admiring Daryls scarred and damaged body and see something he liked.

Daryl nodded, a curt bob of his head, warring against the resistant muscles if his neck.

“Which one?” Rick pushed. Daryl ran his tongue over his chapped lips and felt how his jaw shook minutely.

“I like it.” he croaked. Rick met his gaze and held it, assessing the validity of his statement and Daryl lifted his chin and let himself be observed, meeting his gaze and trying to hide the mess of nerves in his stomach and chest. Concentrating instead on the coil of fondness he felt for his leader, the man that shouldered more responsibility and guilt than anyone else Daryl had ever met, who was a good man, despite some of the things he’d had to do.

Rick nodded, seemingly satisfied by what he saw. “Good,” he said lowly, his voice little more than a rumble as he let his eyes stray from Daryls face, moving leisurely across his form, taking his time to take in Daryls body exposed by his towel.

Daryl held himself still and allowed himself to be looked at. His throat grew tight and he could feel how his breaths became shallow and heavy as his skin tingled as though Ricks gaze was a physical touch.

Heat rose on his cheeks, riding up his throat and he knew he was going red. He gritted his teeth against the mix of disappointment and sadness that warred with the growing arousal.

He was glad the mirror was to his back, that he wouldn't have to see the way he went mottled and red. It was easier when he was in the dark and alone to pretend he was something different, that he wasn't rough and coarse and getting old. He could pretend he was something eye-catching, that the gaze was hungry for more of him. In the bright white bathroom in the middle of the afternoon with a man he loved, it was harder to ignore.

Swallowing thickly and closing his eyes to re-centre himself Daryl forced those thoughts away, concentrating instead on the heat of the other man, on Ricks measured breaths which he could hear clearly in the quiet room.

“Will you show me?” Rick low voice broke his concentration and he opened his eyes. Rick was studying his face and the curl of arousal in Daryls stomach won out over the anxiety.

“Show?” he rasped out. Rick licked his lips, gaze steady.

“Show me what you like.” Rick said. A breath left Daryl, forced out of his lungs as his internal muscles seized in sudden, hot attraction. He bobbed his head in a nod and lifted his hand to the join of his towel, untwisting the knot and letting it fall open. He held it limply in his hand for a moment before he straightened his shoulders and let it drop.

It was likely he would only get one go at his, Rick could lose interest or they could be dead tomorrow. This world was too unsure to deny himself the one chance he had ever been given to enjoy his private fantasy for real.

When he met Ricks eyes he felt more confident, body alive in a way he associated with building arousal. Rick must have seen something in his expression because he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly in the way Daryl had always found attractive.

Daryl pulled himself up onto the cold marble countertop behind him. It curved his spine a little and jutted his hips forward when he leant back carefully against the mirror behind him, mindful of his injuries. Rick took a half step forward, not quite closing the distance between them and Daryl realised with a jolt that it was so he could still see the whole of Daryl clearly.

Daryl licked his lips and ran his hands over his thighs absently, his broad sweeping gestures made his skin prickle with heat and he made the sweeping gestures became smaller as they moved inward and upward, closing in on his dick with the hot spark of first contact which morphed into the hunger of not-enough.

He had never been flamboyant when he jerked off, he was efficient in most things he did. For a few months, Merle had made it his personal mission to barge in on Daryl whenever he suspected he might be jerking it, just for a laugh, and those times had leant a speed and perfunctory nature to his style, even as his eyes strayed to an empty corner.

Under Ricks attention, he worked himself slower than he normally would, let his calloused fingers linger over the sensitive head and worked one hand over his balls, holding them firmly as he angled his wrist a little as though inviting scrutiny.

“Can you pull your leg up?” Rick asked quietly, Daryl felt a hot coil in his stomach burn at the firm command behind the question.

He thought about it for a second, considering options before nodding and moving his hands on the countertop to brace himself in preparation to move if Rick wanted him to. Ricks voice was low and hot when he spoke. “Do it, I want to see.”

A sound escaped Daryls throat as a sharp jerk of want shot through his body at the words and the hunger behind it. His hand flew to grip the base of his dick, holding it tight against the wave of want which raced through him heading straight for his dick.

Ricks eyes went wide and dark. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his attention darted between Daryls hand around the base of his dick and the flush Daryl could feel burning his cheeks.

“It really turns you on, doesn’t it?” The question was low and breathy and Daryl got the feeling he didn’t need to answer it. Rick s throat bobbed as he swallowed and his tongue darted out to lick at his lips. “Do it.” Rick ordered and Daryl followed the steel command like he always has.

Daryl shifted his weight and moved back on the counter so he could rest the heel of one foot on the edge of the surface as he raised his knee and let it fall to the side invitingly.

He was struck by how exposed he was in this position, the tender skin of his inner thigh was stretched and bared and his dick and balls were proudly framed. It was the way his ass was on display, which made his breath catch hotly in his throat.

The hot air was heavy on his damp skin and the air felt thin and unsubstantial. When he looked, Ricks attention was focused between his legs. The muscles of Daryls abdomen tense and released with the tight furl of his asshole as he thought about Rick looking at it, at him.

Daryls attention drifted from the intent focus on Ricks face down his lean body to the bulge pressing against the front of his worn jeans.

Daryls mouth flooded with saliva at the sight and his hand which had eased its grip on the base of his dick gave a slow, tight tug along the whole length.

The moment extended between them, the room was quiet except for the rhythmic slide of Daryls hand along his skin and their breaths which sounded loud in the tiled room.

Daryl fell into the motions, pushing his shoulders back and his chest forward a little and rolled his hips into the movement of his fist as best he could in his perched position. He invited Rick to look with every small shift of his body, exposing himself as his arousal ratcheted tighter under his skin.

Ricks attention roved all over him, following the lines of Daryls body blatantly, observing him with the same sharp focus he would turn to survival. It was heady to be the centre of that intense focus, to be scrutinised by the bright blue eyes which had been the first thing he noticed about the other man.

“Play with your nipples.” Ricks low voice wrapped around him and Daryl raised his hand from his balls to do as he was told without having to think about it. A pleased, heated look crossed Ricks face at his obedience.

Daryl tugged at his nipples, switching between the two as he rolled the small nubs of flesh between his fingers and tweaked them randomly to send sharp sparks all the way through him.

Daryls eyes squeezed shut as his body jerked towards and away from the sensations, a war under his skin as each sharp jolt of sensation he pulled from his nipples and his dick built on top of itself and made his insides burn with the need for release.

“Can I touch you?” Rick asked. Daryls attention snapped back to him. His eyes were dark and hungry, his mouth loose and glistened in the bright light of the bathroom. He looked like a man restrained before a meal, desperate to consume.

Daryl jerked his head in a nod, his chest growing tight at the thought of the other man wanting him, of the other man desiring him like he’d always craved.

Ricks hands were large and calloused as they moved over him. He followed the lines of Daryls limbs, the curve of his spine and the peaks and valleys of his torso before tracing up Daryls arms, gripping the meat of his shoulder in a strong grip as he bowed his head and watched the frantic, desperate movements of Daryls hand over his cock.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” Rick breathed. A high, pleading noise escaped Daryls open mouth on a breath. “Can I kiss you?” Rick asked lowly. Daryls head jerked back in a desperate nod.

Rick smiled, his hand moving up to cup the back of Daryls head between it and the mirror as he moved forward, closing the distance between them and slotting their lips together.

Daryl panted wetly into the other mans mouth. His hand slowed on his dick but his grip remained tight as he thumbed the exposed head until he thought he might shake out of his skin. Rick plundered his mouth, nipping and sucking at his lips between deep, exploratory kisses; their facial hair scraped together and made shivers run down Daryls spine.

When Rick pulled away, Daryl chased the connection. Rick tightened his grip on Daryls hair and held him in place as his eyes took a sweeping look at Daryls body, eyes lingering on the hot flush on his chest and throat and on the stretch of quivering muscle where he held his leg up and exposed still.

His spare hand landed on Daryls opposite hip and gripped it firmly.

“I want to watch you come.” he said in his low growl, calm in that deathly still way he got sometimes. The fire which had burned low and hot during their kiss roared to life in Daryls guts and a shuddery breath escaped him.

Ricks hand trailed from his grip on Daryls hip to run across the skin of his stomach, trailing close to where Daryls hand worked his dick. Ricks eyes followed the progress of his own hand and he licked his lips before speaking again. “I want you to come all over yourself.”

A shudder ran through Daryl and the pressure finally released. His mouth fell open and he gasped into the hot, humid air as he did as he was told. Hot, wet points of contact splattered across his abdomen as his dick pulsed in his hands. He felt Ricks hand grip his hip tightly, the brush of denim against his inner thigh and Ricks other hand cupped his head and softened its impact against the mirror when Daryls spine arched and his head lolled back.

Daryl wondered how he looked in that second, body frozen in a dramatic arch, throat bared to the other man and the fat, pearlescent drops of his come splattered across his stomach and caught on the fist he worked over himself as he pushed himself through the aftershocks until the touch became too much.

The moment after stretched out in silence, Daryls shaking breaths loud in the quiet room. When he opened his eyes Ricks own were dark and hungry, roving over Daryls face and taking in every detail.

Daryl flushed, ducking his head to hide behind his damp fringe but was stopped by the grip Rick still had on his hair.

One handed, Rick released his belt and lowered his fly before pushing the button of his jeans through the hole and peeling them open.

Daryl watched his progress, eyes fixed on the straining bulge. Rick didn’t bother taking off his jeans or briefs, instead, pushing them down just enough to pull his engorged dick out into the hot room.

Daryl licked his lips as he watched Ricks strong, tanned hand close around his thick dick. There was a curse and Daryl looked up at Rick who was staring at him, his eyes hooded and hungry.

“Just look at you, _fuck_.” Ricks voice was low and rough, barely more than a growl and Daryl felt it settle in the heavy, sated feeling in his limbs and crackle like arousal.

Pulling his hand from Daryls hair Rick fingered the smears of cooling come splattered across Daryls skin. Daryl watched as the other man examined his own hand as he worked the fluid into Daryls skin, mouth open around deep pants.

Daryl twitched when Ricks hand rose to tweak his nipple and Rick huffed a laugh, breathing another curse as his eyes took in every inch of Daryl. “You’re gorgeous.” he whispered like a prayer before his eyes squeezed shut and his hand on his dick became frantic.

He let out a grunt and bared his teeth when he came. Daryl had a split second to realise what was happening before the first splatter of hot come landed on his stomach. He felt pleasure swoop in his stomach at the knowledge that Rick was coming on him, had planned to do it.

Rick was rough as he worked himself through his climax, his grip tight and firm as he worked the length. Daryl watched him, attention darting between his face frozen in ecstasy and his hand working his thick dick,

When the last shudder ran through him, Rick trailed his hand over the fresh smears of moisture on Daryls stomach, working it into his skin with calloused fingertips. Daryl watched him work, eyes heavy-lidded and a deep, satisfying pleasure settling along his bones.

Eventually, Rick pulled his hands away. He turned on the tap beside Daryl and dumped the hand towel on the far side of the counter under the rush of water as it warmed up.

Daryls limbs felt heavy and sluggish as Rick worked the warm cloth over his skin, wiping away the smears of their come he had so thoroughly worked into Daryls skin.

They didn’t say anything, but touches lingered and Daryl didn’t feel any of the panic he thought he should have, just a bone-deep satisfaction.

When Rick moved back, finally pulling his hands from Daryls body and tucking himself back into his jeans, Daryl felt the first pull of dread slip in. He ducked his head and pulled himself down off the countertop, reaching for his clothes in a pile on the floor.

There was an intake of air before a click of a tongue and Daryl looked up at Rick looking intently at Daryls shoulder. Reaching up, Daryl felt what might have been sweat but when he looked at his fingers there was the rosy pink sheen of blood. He rolled his eyes at Rick and lifted the towel from the floor, patting carefully at his injury to show how little blood had welled up.

“It’s fine.” he said, his voice came out a low, raw rasp and he cleared it absently as he reached again for his pants, pulling them on roughly and bowing his head as he did them up.

“You gotta be careful Daryl,” Rick said quietly, his voice soft, “I couldn’t bare it if you didn’t come back to me.”

Daryls hands stilled on his fly and he looked up at Rick, taking in the flush still on his cheeks and the way his hair curled around his handsome face like a dark halo.

Rick didn’t pull away when Daryl reached up, cupping the side of his neck, one thumb rubbing absently at the coarse stubble along his strong jaw. The both sunk together when Daryl leant in for a kiss, soft and warm and full of the love that had been building between them for years. Daryl pressed all the reassurances and promises he couldn’t say out loud into the kiss and felt Rick pull him close. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think


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